


Freak

by rispacooper



Category: Psych
Genre: Blow Jobs, Car Sex, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, First Time, Hand Jobs, Humiliation, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-25
Updated: 2011-02-25
Packaged: 2017-10-15 22:58:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/165725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rispacooper/pseuds/rispacooper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Freaky but sweet first time carsex shenanigans.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Freak

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for the ep "We'd Like To Thank The Academy". Omg I slashed Ralph Macchio, I can't even!

"I'm not sure that waiter wasn't some sort of communist. I am damn sure he wasn't much of a waiter. I asked for scotch on the rocks and steak, medium rare. Instead I get scotch and soda and a charcoal briquette." Carlton stopped to snort. "Then he asks me for a twenty percent tip. Jackass."

"You aren't going to let this go, are you?" Nick's voice, quiet as always, made Carlton glance over at him, but the interior of the car was dark, with only passed streetlights to illuminate the other man's profile. Still, Carlton had the feeling something was off. Nick got this tone sometimes, as though Carlton had done something weird. It was a lot like Spencer's amusement with him, in that Carlton didn't really understand it, but he knew it was there. It just didn't feel like amusement. Or not completely.

"Of course not." Carlton finally responded, pulling onto the street where Conforth lived when he wasn't holed up at the Academy during instruction periods. "I never let anything go.” It wasn’t a vow for the future; he meant it. But he again had the strangest feeling that Nick was hiding his reaction from the words. He looked over again, but there was nothing to see, so he went on.

“I think there was spit in my food and you wouldn't let me flash my badge." Carlton ground his teeth together at the very idea of restraint with someone so idiotic. It was like Spencer. Some people had to be put in their place. He jerked his chin up and parked the car. "Somebody ought to teach that little punk some respect for the law."

"Really?" There was that tone again. Carlton turned off the car and peered suspiciously to the side. Ever since he and Nick had started meeting for the occasional dinner, or coffee, or movie, in the past few weeks, Carlton had had to deal with that tone. At first he'd thought Nick was planning something, perhaps his murder, revenge, blackmail, but then he'd realized that Nick wasn't capable of deception. Nick was barely capable of police work, even if he was...apparently...quite a decent instructor.

Carlton generally didn't hang out too much with his fellow officers--he suspected they were intimidated by his skill and zeal--but despite the fact that Nick froze up like Frosty the Snowman around criminals, he had yet to back down in Carlton's presence and that counted for a lot in Carlton's book. As soon as Carlton got the hang of dating men--or to be honest--got brave enough to truly start dating men--he was going to look for that quality in a partner. That and being a crack shot; he’d seen that security footage from the grocery store and Conforth was quite the shot, when he could get it up.

His gun. Get his gun up. Carlton wasn’t thinking about his…anything else.

Anyway, in the meantime, hanging around with someone in law enforcement who wasn't O'Hara was...nice. She hadn't been around a lot lately anyway. So he...supposed...he could put up with whatever that tone meant. Anyway, the tone hadn't been there when Nick had touched his wrist and asked him not to use his badge to intimidate the kid.

It had only been there _after_ he'd asked that, when Carlton had reluctantly agreed not to scare the moron...and then had realized that he hadn't pulled his hand away.

An accident. Good thing Nick wasn't the confrontational type. Carlton had finally remembered himself and they’d eaten their crappy dinners in the same kind of companionable silence that they’d had coffee in, and almost like how they’d watched that movie.  
Carlton understood money troubles, but he was a still a little taken aback by Nick wanting to share his bucket of popcorn. But it hadn’t been bad. Carlton had told him to wash his hands first and that was something. Maybe _some_ conversation would have been nice, but with the bucket between them he supposed there hadn’t been the need.

Still, Conforth could be oddly quiet. Like after the movie had ended, lingering by his car and staring at Carlton until Carlton had asked if he had popcorn in his teeth.

"Yeah." Carlton cleared his throat and waved a hand to banish the memory. He raised his voice. "Little bastard wasn't even good at his job and he had the nerve to ask for a reward."

"I..." Nick stopped. Carlton looked over again, distracted by the catch in his voice, that little hint that the suspect--his new, sort of, friend--was holding something back.

It was still dark inside, and Carlton frowned.

"Was I supposed to be scared of a _waiter_?" He sneered the very word. Waiter. It was almost as bad as _instructor_... Well, maybe instructors weren't so bad. The few good ones.

"What..." There was a wet sound, like Nick licked his mouth. He was probably admiring Carlton's confidence as head detective. "What would you have said to him?"

"If you hadn't stopped me? Anything. But I'd start by asking him about every life decision he's made that led him to becoming a waiter at that dive."

"You...you picked the place out." The tone was so obvious now that Carlton frowned. It was a combination of breathlessness and stress. Like a lie...or like someone about to confess to murder.

"That's no excuse for his incompetence. But while we're on the subject, Conforth, I can't believe you stopped me."

"I didn't want...well..." The other man was so hesitant that Carlton scowled and shifted in his seat.

"Spit it out. Jesus. Stop being so timid. You're an officer of the law." If barely. Well, he taught officers of the law. And his aim was…his aim was impressive.

"I didn't want to ruin...he was just a waiter, sir," Nick rushed out, adding an unnecessary "sir" that made the blood pound in Carlton's ears. It was his turn to wet his mouth. Then he sat up and pulled at his seat belt.

"Yeah well, whatever you do for a living, you at least ought to do it well. Any profession deserves respect. Except psychic investigators who lure gullible, trusting idiots into their craziness."

"Carlton." Nick's voice actually broke. Carlton squinted at him in the darkness, and then blinked as the headlights from a car going by hit Nick's face, revealing wide eyes steady on Carlton's face, and darkened, flushed cheeks. His lips were parted, and he was breathing so hard his chest was heaving.

Carlton dropped his eyes then immediately froze at the distinct outline of a hard dick in Nick's pants. The hard dick in Nick's pants.

Then the world went dark again.

"Oh my God." Nick exhaled and then moved a hand toward the passenger door. Carlton slapped a hand down to lock him in without thinking, then instantly unlocked it when he’d realized what he’d done, but the sound seemed to have stopped Nick in his tracks. Stopped him from leaving, retreating, whatever the hell was happening. Carlton pulled in a long breath, and then they both were just sitting there, in the dark, breathing like freaks in a porno.

A _gay_ porno.

Because they'd been _dating_ , and Carlton was gay, well, mostly in theory so far, outside of a few drunken picnic experiences, and because Conforth—Nick was...Nick was...

Some kind of freak. A gay one.

Some kind of gay freak who liked Carlton.

Some kind of gay freak who liked Carlton when Carlton...

"You're an _officer_ of the _law_." He couldn't help it. Disbelief made his voice high and harsh. And Nick...Nick moaned.

"God I'm so sorry."

"Sorry?" Carlton's voice got even higher, and then cracked and went smooth. "You're...your dick is _hard_ because I yelled at a waiter and you're sorry?" He was getting hot, but no way was he rolling down a window so any possible, potential bystanders could hear this "I'm yelling now. Are you hard now?" Shit he was already hard, wasn't he? His cock straining against his fly because of Carlton.

Carlton froze again, only to go hot all over. Everywhere. Thinking about that. Nick's cock. If it would twitch if he...

"You freak," he breathed, shifting in his seat again. His own pants were starting to get tight. "You...is this why you were worried about police work in the field?" Oh God, every time he would have gotten an order, or gotten insulted by some punk, would he have gotten so breathless and still, stiff in his pants and leaking into his tighty-whiteys?

Holy crap. Carlton’s heart rate jacked up to dangerous levels at the thought. The idea. Of what it would be like to say something again.

So far the sex in his life had always been what he’d thought was normal. This was…this was…like slapping the cuffs on someone three times his size, like making them talk, like shoving them down onto their knees.

Thrilling. Hot.

"Lassiter...Carlton...please." Nick was trying to explain, and Carlton raised his chin though he thought Nick probably couldn’t see much.

"Begging,” he announced coolly. “A real cop wouldn't beg. You're not a suspect." Carlton couldn't seem to stop. He put a hand down to his crotch where things were definitely happening, and Nick...was squirming next to him. He turned, and Carlton couldn't see his face but he could feel his breath. It smelled like his sensible light beer and chicken. It was warm and close and...

He opened his mouth. "Act like a cop, if you can."

This wasn't what anyone in his life had ever wanted. He didn't even talk this way to anyone he wasn't arresting, except for Spencer...but that was Spencer. You didn't talk like this to people, it wasn't how you made friends, that's what everyone had always told him.

But he didn’t have any friends. And Nick...Nick was hard. And...was he moving? Was his hand moving? In his lap.

"Sweet Christ," Carlton swore and ground out more. "Do it. Prove to me you aren't the worthless officer with over ten years' experience who still chokes at a scene." He leaned in. "Show me. Show me, you're a man and a cop. That as you're good enough to be _seen_ with the department's youngest head detective."

Nick's whole body arched up from the seat. He seemed to be trying to get away and yet he wasn't arguing. Of course he wasn't, Carlton looked down, straining to see what he was doing, but just worried enough to not turn on the dome light. He couldn't...not yet. But those noises, those noises he was making. Choking, yeah Nick was choking again all right.

Carlton shut his eyes, his pulse pounding as he reached out, and Nick gasped his name.

"Not good enough." Carlton didn't even know what he was saying, but there was a cock jerking against his hand, his palm rough over denim, and suddenly Carlton was hard enough to carve marble.

Nick’s hand bumped his, fingers sliding at the back of his hand, and then was the sound of a zipper, and Carlton pushed apart loose jeans, hissing slightly at the heat of it all. He tried to stop, to silence himself, to listen. He was _listening_ , straining to listen, to the sound of another man taking his dick out. And he was going to, he was going to...what? Beat him off?

Oh god. Damn Spencer. Again.

Carlton unclenched his teeth, and eased closer to the passenger seat. This was awkward and uncomfortable and yet Nick wasn’t asking him to stop so he was going to keep going. Nick was shivering weakly, his gaze somehow light on Carlton even in the dark. Waiting. He’d been waiting for Carlton to take over.

Carlton felt about ten feet tall. Also smug, and horny like he hadn't gotten laid in years. "You let Spencer boss you around."

"Yeah. Yeah I did," Nick admitted, and there was another whisper of sound, and then he was speaking in that tone again. Maybe it was the cruel things Carlton was doing with his fingers, which were now slick like movie theater butter flavored popcorn topping. He wanted to lick them. He raised them instead. Nick’s mouth made Carlton bite down to stop himself from groaning.

He pulled them free and got back down to the business of learning Nick Conforth’s dick.

“Yeah I did. Yes. Yeah.” Nick agreed with his decision, vigorously.

"Yeah you did, what?" The mess on his hand felt good. Powerful. Carlton leaned in closer, inhaling each squeaky little gasp Conforth wasn’t attempting to hide.

"Yeah I did, sir."

Carlton pushed down. His cock jumped. Nick barely held back a grunt, like he knew that, or had the same problem.

"You like this." Someday, Carlton might believe this was really happening. In the meantime, he had two dicks to take care of. The very thought...

He shut his eyes and reached out. He wasn't drunk. This wasn't drunken picnic shenanigans. This was real. Nick's body went tense, nervous, frightened, and Carlton wet his lips as he let his fingers skim over a rigid, twitching, shaft. Then he took his hand away.

"You're pathetic. What kind of cop are you? What kind of person likes this? Gets off on being criticized?"

Nick moved, maybe tried to shrug. He was so hot, embarrassed, Carlton guessed, or aroused. He shifted closer. Nick’s skin felt like it could burn. He was embarrassed, but he wanted it.

"I guess I don't know,” he admitted.

"Guess you don't know, what?" Carlton was sneering and restless with the need to move. He wanted to push on top of Nick, or touch him more, or just something, anything, so long as one of them got to come. He was talking like Nick should have talked to his stupid recruits, and he liked it. They both did. "Say it, you poor excuse for a cop." He couldn't think, something made worse when Nick moaned and there was the definite sound of skin on skin.

Nick was touching himself.

Carlton's seat belt hit the window as he yanked it free and slid over the emergency brake, pushing closer and blindly groping in the dark until he found Nick's hand and pushed it away so he could have his cock. His palm was sweaty, something for his mind to process later, like the freight train sound of Nick's harsh gasping, and the feel of hot, hard skin and pre-ejaculate between his fingers.

Real sex. He was having real sex with a man. And it was Nick. And it was freaky, kinky sex. It was amazing. “Say it!” He barked at the thought, milking out another drop and then getting a good grip.

"Sir." Nick panted, and Carlton opened his eyes and looked out at an empty, darkened street. This was against the law. It was borderline public. A real cop would have control.

"Pathetic." It wasn't really a sneer, but Nick liked it. Oh how he liked it. He pushed up, and then Carlton was squeezing, taking over, because he had to, because Nick wanted him to. "You're pathetic. You don't need to beg for insults. You just putting on that uniform is an insult, isn't it, Officer Conforth?"

"Ye...yeah...Carlton..."

"Say it." He was yelling, or growling, he wasn't sure, but his face was hot. His body was hot too, he was hard and sticky in his should-be regulation boxer-briefs, and stroking another man's johnson and with every squeeze, he had Nick begging for more. Begging. For Carlton. Carlton was dizzy with it.

"You're a pathetic, sorry, piss poor excuse for a man. More than that you couldn't even be bothered to tell me we were dating!" He leaned in, Nick smelled like beer and sex and he turned toward Carlton with a strangled whisper. His hair was soft on Carlton's cheek, his breath warm.

"Please," he was still begging. Just giving up. It felt like Carlton's first day as head detective all over again. He was pounding, blazing, rock hard. He breathed in and made Nick plead some more, soft against his face. The man was so soft. Everything a cop shouldn't be, but like a teacher maybe should be, hard in the right place, but soft, and giving, and everything Carlton had ever secretly wanted, except not like Spencer.

"Come." It came out, making him bite down to not say more. His voice cracked through the car like a gunshot, like Nick’s accuracy with a weapon, which was damn sexy. “Do it already, because I'm telling you to, you piece of crap cop."

They were so close, Nick’s lips just grazed him as he breathed out a word, maybe Carlton’s name, and bucked his hips.

It hit Carlton’s hand, possibly his dashboard. Come. There was _semen_ on his dashboard. But he couldn't even swear. Nick's mouth was close, his--barely---muffled cries needy. It was weak, but Carlton couldn't turn away. He’d made Nick come. He felt like he’d hit the bull’s-eye. No one had ever wanted this from him before.

His cock was still a problem, but he barely had time to twitch, to even anticipate what to do next, because as he was catching his breath, Nick released his seat belt and crawled, scrambled to get closer to him. Carlton pushed back against his seat in surprise, but Nick followed until his mouth was on Carlton's.

The kiss was soft, like maybe they ought to be, and he was whispering after the first one, before the second when Carlton parted his lips, some crap Carlton didn't understand, but which seemed nice, pleased. It shifted to another embarrassed little moan when Carlton put a hand—his clean one—to his jaw and started to kiss him back.

This was dating he was used to, when his dates had gone okay anyway, and Nick seemed to agree.

"God, thank you." Nick was grateful, Carlton registered that distantly in the pause between the fourth and fifth kiss, grateful to be insulted, or, Carlton guessed, just accepted. Though Carlton had more than accepted him, as evidenced by the state of his dick.

But he knew that, the humiliation of wanting something and being denied, or laughed at, feeling wrong around people who were always right, and he slid his hand to Nick’s hair.

Nick seemed to take it as some sort of order though Carlton hadn’t spoken. His next kiss was rough, almost forceful, as Nick threw himself at him. His body was sloppy and warm, halfway over the seat, over Carlton.

He was broad shoulders and short hair and he smelled like come. He was possibly Carlton’s boyfriend. And he liked to be degraded. Carlton ought to be thanking _him_.

"Thank you?" He had to ask, when he could, and of course the damn dark wouldn't let him see what Nick's expression was, but Nick actually laughed a little bit. Amused, but not like Spencer. Like Carlton ought to understand, but Nick didn't hold it against him or think he was slow. Kind of like he’d laughed all those years ago when they’d been competing against each other.

It almost made Carlton apologize for everything he'd ever said, now, or back in the Academy when Nick had always been so much better than him, but when he slid his tongue along his lips and tasted Nick's beer, he stopped.

Nick moved on just the same, pushing his hands down to the seat, to Carlton's thigh, on his knee, and then sliding down.

He wasn't.

He was.

Like a freaky gay porno. Like a serious law violation. Like Carlton's first gay blowjob.

Carlton ought to stop it. To be the better cop and bring this inside.

No way was he moving.

Instead he tangled his fingers in the hair at the back of Nick's hair--regulation short cut, nice--and shut his eyes and decided at the first lick of desperate, needy, wet, sensation, that there were two cops in this car. He’d like to see the idiot who’d even attempt to bring them in.

Then he choked back a moan and felt Nick’s hair twist between his fingers.

“Freak,” he murmured, but gently.


End file.
